The ground beneath the capital plaza didn't just shake; it began to liquefy under the localized gravitational weight of Admiral Cold's crushing tundra aura. Faizan, the leader of the fourth squad, along with Krodh, were being driven directly into the shattering stone, their knees buckling under the absolute mass of the glacial titan.
"Is this... the absolute limit of your resistance?" Admiral Cold roared, his cavernous voice vibrating through the ice shards pinned in the air. He raised his massive, ice-encrusted fist to deliver a final, structural shattering blow that would level the entire city block.
BOOM.
The heavy, glacial fist never descended.
A shockwave of sheer, unadulterated physical pressure ripped through the freezing fog, instantly vaporizing the frost needles hanging in the air. A single hand—not coated in elements, not burning with energy, but radiating a pure, golden weight—had intercepted Admiral Cold's mountain-level punch dead in its tracks.
The fog cleared to reveal Khamata, the mother of Lam, Asadullah, Draz, Krodh, and Bayu. She stood firmly, her posture unyielding, her eyes burning with the fierce, protective instinct of the matriarch of the great Khandaker Tribe. She was the legendary G.O.D. of Strength, the biological anchor from whom her sons inherited their terrifying physical capacities.
"You stepped onto our dirt, froze our cities, and laid hands on my boys," Khamata said, her voice dropping to a low, deathly calm that silenced the battlefield. "You are a large piece of ice, grunt. Let's see how much pressure you can take."
Admiral Cold's eyes widened behind his glacial visor. Before he could pull his arm back, Khamata gripped his frozen knuckles and twisted. The sound of ancient, deep-sea ice fracturing echoed across the plaza.
"GODDESS'S FIST: FIRST COMPRESSION!"
Khamata delivered a straight punch directly into Admiral Cold's chest. The impact didn't cause an explosion; instead, it compressed the air around them into a single, dense point of force. The massive, 10-foot-tall, 300kg Admiral was sent launching backward through six consecutive high-rise structures, leaving a perfectly round tunnel of destruction through the steel and concrete.
"Faizan, Saad, Nehal, Shoaib, Muntahan! Fall back to the secondary perimeter!" Khamata commanded without looking back. "Lam, Asadullah, Draz, Krodh, Bayu! Guard the flank! This block is mine."
Admiral Cold burst out from the rubble of the sixth building, his bulky frame cracked, pieces of his dark diamond-infused armor falling away like dry bark. Yet, he was an Admiral of the Void—a being who had survived the destruction of thousands of star systems. He roared, his core surging as he regenerated his shattered armor with denser, blue glacial layers.
"Impertinent mortal!" Cold bellowed, rushing back toward her like a runaway avalanche.
The battle turned into an absolute toe-to-toe slugfest. It was raw mass against divine density. Admiral Cold swung his massive arms, throwing punches that could knock a moon out of its orbit, but Khamata met every single strike with her bare hands.
The air pressure from their collisions was so violent that it forced Lam, Asadullah, Draz, Krodh, and Bayu to plant their weapons into the ground just to keep from being blown away.
Despite Admiral Cold's immense bulk and his specialized gravity frost, it simply wasn't enough to match the absolute perfection of the Goddess's fists. Every time he tried to pin her down with weight, Khamata's raw strength broke through the gravitational field, cracking his icy hide again and again.
Yet, the Admiral somehow survived, his ancient Icerian endurance keeping his core intact as he continued to fight with a savage, desperate ferocity.
THE WRATH OF A RUINED KING
Meanwhile, across the folded dimensions of the cosmos, the silence of the dead Icerian Multiverse was broken by a scream of pure, unadulterated fury.
"YOU BITCH! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
Frostera the Duke stood on the edge of the central hub world, his hands trembling as he stared at the endless plains of gray ash. His empire, his trillions of subjects, the armies he had built over millions of years—all reduced to dust.
The Five-Armed Man stood perfectly calm in the center of the void. He didn't look angry, he didn't look proud; he looked entirely indifferent, like a janitor who had just finished scrubbing a floor. He idly shifted his weight, his lower right hand resting on the handle of his cosmic plunger, while his upper arms remained still.
"What did I do?" the Five-Armed Man asked, his voice flat and calm, echoing through the empty galaxy. "I cleaned. You left your house messy, Duke. I simply put the trash where it belongs."
"This was my legacy! My kingdom!" the Duke roared, his dark-ice scythe igniting with a terrifying, black-green fire fueled by his absolute hatred. "I will tear your five arms from your torso and freeze your soul into a monument of pain!"
The Five-Armed Man slowly raised his central third eye, the red bird-shaped pupil in the center blinking with a cold, mechanical detachment.
"You talk too much for a variable that has already been calculated," the Five-Armed Man whispered.
CLIFFHANGER:
On Animan Planet, Admiral Cold prepares a final, desperate move to freeze Khamata's very blood, while in the dead universe, the Duke charges the completely stationary Five-Armed Man with enough cosmic energy to collapse a star.